


Do We Get What We Deserve?

by floosilver8



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hand Jobs, I feel like there should be more tags but I can’t think of them, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Soul-Searching, a bit of hurt/comfort, sort of enemies to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:09:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28783218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floosilver8/pseuds/floosilver8
Summary: What if Patrick and David met before they were "ready"? What if their first meeting wasn't so fluffy and sweet, and instead more angry and kind of hot? But kind of sad? Let's go on a little journey...
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 30
Kudos: 152





	1. You Let Your Feet Run Wild

**Author's Note:**

> Starts somewhere before/during S2E12, adding in canon elements along the way. Ends somewhere in canon. It’s all about David’s POV and his personal growth at the beginning.  
> (Main title and chapter titles from [Way Down We Go](https://open.spotify.com/track/0y1QJc3SJVPKJ1OvFmFqe6?si=e_fPtHxzTJ2pfWj6VLFyxQ) by Kaleo)

Another day, another shitty shift at the Blouse Barn. Ugh. David slouched over the counter, flipping through his phone, occasionally flexing his spine and enjoying the soft pops released from his vertebrae. He was unconsciously counting down the minutes until he could close up for a lunch break, but playing the game of all retail workers where he was seeing how long he could go without looking at the clock and guessing how much time had passed.

Wendy had finally felt comfortable letting him take open to close shifts by himself a short while ago. She seemed to have constant family drama, so she desperately needed the help. And David desperately needed the money so he could _maybe_ buy designer clothes off eBay, and eye creams from Paris, and just _any_ luxury thing from his old life. He would settle for literally anything at this point, especially after his father raged at him about what the fuck a tax write off was. David still wasn’t sure, but he stopped buying random things “to test drive for the store.”

Ugh. He was never getting out of here. This was going to be his life forever, wasn’t it? It had been eleven months since the most stressful day of his life – and his family’s lives, he assumes. In a few weeks his family would officially have lived in Schitt’s Creek for a full year. It had been six months since one of the happiest days of his life – when his father came running into the motel room, breathless from sprinting across town with the news that they were “getting out!”

Except they didn’t get out. Andy Roberts had to go and have a heart attack in the middle of dinner and ruin everything. The only good thing about that day was that it made the Roses take heart health a little more seriously. David and his father especially had started watching their cholesterol intake more closely, and David joined Twyla’s yoga classes every week now. Not that they helped him relax _at all_. But he was trying, and his muscles thanked him.

That thought reminded him to check Twyla’s schedule for another yin class. It was while he was doing that, that the bell over the door chimed, indicating the first customer all morning.

“Welcome to the Blouse Barn,” he called automatically, without looking up. He found the yoga class he wanted, reserved his spot, and tucked his phone into his back pocket before straightening up to address the customer more directly.

Wendy had let David make a few minor changes to the layout of the store, but it was still seriously cluttered. He could just see the customer’s back around the center display and immediately clocked the close-cropped auburn hair ( _needs product_ ), broad shoulders ( _nice_ ), wrinkle-free blue dress shirt ( _whatever_ ), braided belt ( _ew_ ), and basic mid-range jeans ( _ugh_ ) – but a great ass. Huh.

Yet another straight dude shopping for his wife, surely. It was David’s fourth such customer this week. Not that he was complaining, they were super easy to upsell.

“Shopping for your wife?” David asked, plastering on his customer service smile, and leaning against the rack closest to the man.

The man started, clearly not registering David’s close proximity until that moment. “Uh, no,” he turned slowly, his eyes landing somewhere around David’s chest, clearly not expecting him to be so tall. “Oh,” the man’s face quickly went from neutral to shock, his mouth hanging slightly open.

Oh, this was going to be fun. David loved it when he made the straights nervous. It was maybe a cruel little game, but it made him feel powerful. The man was cute, no doubt about it, his eyes were…hmmm…David was going to think about those eyes later for sure. Maybe it was mean, but this game was all he had right now, and he was going to lay it on thick for this buttoned-up man. Knowing exactly what he looked like in his tight bleached jeans that highlighted his groin, and well-fitting sweater, David stood a little taller, tilted his head flirtatiously and smirked to put his lips on display.

“Someone else then?” he kept his eyes laser-focused on the man, daring him to look away.

“Um,” the man visibly swallowed and after several beats returned his gaze back to the rack of clothes in front of himself. “Yeah, um, maybe.”

Easily flustered was a good sign. If this guy didn’t walk out of the shop with his bank account at least $100 lighter, then David had lost his touch – and David was a natural salesman. He used to make people spend far more on far less in his galleries back in his old life. This was sure to be a piece of cake.

“Well, we have some great pieces in here, for lots of occasions and lots of personalities and body types,” David lied. Almost everything in here was horrible.

The man nodded noncommittally and glanced sideways at David, apparently afraid of making direct eye contact again, but having no trouble raking his eyes up and down David’s body. Mmm, that felt good. And the blush pinking up the man’s cheeks was very interesting.

“Something pretty for yourself, perhaps?” David tried, lowering his voice. It wouldn’t be his first customer for that either, but it would mean his teasing game was over.

The man’s scant eyebrows shot up his forehead immediately. So that’s a no.

“Uh, no. I um, I’m not really looking for anything,” he said at last. “I was sort of just wandering through town.”

Ugh. A window shopper. David dropped his game, no longer interested in the sale or fitting the stereotype this guy was assuming. He had ten minutes until lunch time and his stomach was already complaining. He could feel the “hanger” brewing in his chest.

“Okay, well my name’s David if you need anything,” he turned to go back behind the counter.

“What’s your name if I _don’t_ need anything?” the man asked, and David clocked the tease in his tone.

Um, no. Not happening. Not today. Not when this guy was standing between him and pad thai from Thai Me Down across the street. He turned back over his shoulder and scowled at the man, making his feet move away before he could say something biting that would get back to Wendy and get him in trouble. He settled back into the same spot and posture at the counter, contemplating how he’d kick this guy out if he needed to. Confrontation was the worst.

Promising himself that he would say something if the guy stayed more than five more minutes, David scrolled through social media and vaguely registered the man’s languid pace from one display to another. David got lost in a thread about the Kardashian’s new season, and it wasn’t until the man was right in front of him that he looked up again. Fuck. It had been more than five minutes.

“What?” David said more harshly than was warranted, bringing himself up to his full height again.

“You treat all your customers this nicely?” the man narrowed his eyes at David and crossed his arms tightly across his chest. His strong, stupidly hot arms. Fuck.

David scowled involuntarily at the sass and the fact that now he was horny. “No, only the ones that sneak up on me and don’t intend on buying anything.”

“Who said I wasn’t going to buy anything?” the guy clapped back.

Blinking pointedly, David looked the man up and down exaggeratedly, his annoyance growing each second. “I don’t see any items in your hands.”

“Maybe I wanted help reaching something from a higher self,” the man said defiantly.

“Oh, really?” David asked, coming around the end of the counter, not at all believing this man’s story.

The man blanched now that he was faced with the full force of David’s presence again. Hmm, maybe the game was back on.

“Okay, no,” the man said after a moment, swallowing hard again. He kept his eyes on David’s until it seemed like he lost his nerve. Then he sighed and reached out his hand, “I’m Patrick,” he said, like David should care. “Patrick Brewer.”

Furrowing his brow, David did the polite thing and shook Patrick’s hand. What the fuck was this interaction turning into? How long was it going to take until he could be chin-deep in pad thai?

“I’m new around here,” Patrick took his hand back and fished something out of his back pocket. “I do business consulting, if you ever need help with the books or paperwork or anything.” He handed David his card with an almost timid nod.

“Oh,” David said, unable to get his brain to form any other words at first. So, this was a sales pitch. Of fucking course.

“You have a great space here, you could do a lot with it,” Patrick continued, wandering back up toward the front.

“Yeah, well, it’s not mine,” David interjected, following a few paces behind. He was not about to let anyone think he had anything to do with this mess.

“Oh.” Patrick looked disappointed. Probably was hoping to get a big fee for consulting on simple taxes or some shit. Wendy would totally have fallen for that.

“Yeah, so thanks but no thanks,” David dismissed him but tucked the card in his pocket anyway. He turned to the wall display and started fussing with it. As soon as Patrick inevitably left, David was going to lock the door and bolt across the street for lunch, but he could fix the baskets of hats and gloves on the upper shelf since he was standing here. He reached up high, waiting, waiting for Patrick’s retreat, but it didn’t come. Seriously, this guy was ruining his morning at this point. David turned to find out what Patrick wanted _now_ , and caught him staring intently at David’s crotch, lower lip tucked in his teeth, hungry look behind his eyes.

Oh.

Huh.

“See something _else_ , you want?” David asked slowly, tilting his chin up daringly. And he watched as Patrick’s gaze traveled upward, his eyes burning through David’s when they finally met.

The game was _definitely_ back on, with a very interesting twist that hadn’t happened in a while.

David held his breath while he regarded Patrick, waiting for him to decide between fight or flight – or in this case, fuck or flight. Did this tidy, blandly dressed, absolutely built, specimen have the guts? It seemed to take ages, but finally Patrick nodded. Slow. Scared. But unmistakable.

“I was about to close for lunch,” David settled into one hip, putting his groin back on display so there would be no misunderstanding. “You could lock the door,” he suggested slowly, licking his lips, letting his eyes take in all the parts of Patrick that he wanted to see unbuttoned. “Meet me in the back?”

This would not be the first time he’s ever had sex at work, it didn’t bother him in the slightest. It would be the first time he did it surrounded by so much polyester though. He held Patrick’s gaze for three more beats before turning slowly. It was his decision. If the lock clicked, then David would ignore his stomach and enjoy a very different sort of lunch. Satisfy a different hunger for a bit.

The lock clicked.

David felt the grin spread across his face involuntarily, his dick perking up with the anticipation. He squared his shoulders but kept his eyes straight ahead on the back of the store, pausing when he finally reached it. Patrick’s footsteps behind him were tentative right until he caught up with David.

They could do this in the back room, up against the desk, rattling the shelves of stock. But David didn’t know this guy from Adam. And the door said “Employees Only” after all. So, David turned instead to the nearest changing room, pushing the curtain aside with one hand, and drawing Patrick in with the other. He was pliant and willing, and the little sound he made as his back hit the wall was absolutely filthy.

The instant the curtain was closed again David’s mouth found Patrick’s lips. Soft. So soft. He returned it firmly and eagerly and so, so deliciously. There was a sharp inhale of breath, and a low moan, and David couldn’t be sure if it was his voice or Patrick’s, but his body was on fire with it anyway. He gripped the sides of Patrick’s face, holding him just where he wanted him, and Patrick seemed very, very pleased with that, opening so beautifully when David’s tongue traced his lower lip, tilting his chin up to give, give, give. His tongue. His fucking tongue was an ex-fucking-quisite menace.

Adrenaline coursed through David’s veins, scratching an itch he hadn’t realized was bothering him so much. And oh, Patrick was a good kisser. His mouth was so warm and inviting. His hands found their way to David’s waist to pull him in further, an unmistakable erection pressing against David’s thigh. There wasn’t any time to second guess it or worry about his own tell-tale bulge. It made his head swim with lust and it was so. fucking. beautiful.

David growled low in his throat, needy as fuck, but who cared. Patrick seemed like a drowning man intent on stealing the oxygen right out of David’s lungs and what a way that would be to go. There were firm hands scrabbling to get under David’s sweater, blunt fingernails on his skin, and then teeth scraping along this throat.

Yes. _Fuck_.

This. All day. Every damn day. He would never tire of being wanted. Desired. The more Patrick desperately licked down David’s throat the more he wanted to tear this man apart. Finding Patrick’s mouth again, David kissed him firmly one more time before sinking to his knees. These jeans were impossible to move in, his dick needing relief as soon as possible, but David’s mouth needed to stay busy. So, he made quick work of the fugly braided belt and jeans that were three shades too light, barely registering the blue boxer briefs that probably came in a five-pack (because of fucking course they did) and shoved it all out of the way so he could get at Patrick’s gorgeous, so fucking perfect cock.

His mouth watered at the sight and he let it hang open lewdly while he paused to look up. Patrick looked utterly wrecked, short hair askew, lips kiss swollen, pupils blown, breaths heavy. Stunning. David held his gaze as he let his tongue slide out obscenely to lick a long stripe up the underside of his cock. He was rewarded with an intoxicating moan escaping Patrick’s throat as he squeezed his eyes shut and thunked his skull against the wall.

Ooooooh, yes. Yes. Yes. _Yes_. David set to working his magic. He knew how good he was with his tongue, with his mouth, add in his dexterous fingers and he was an unstoppable force. He had taken apart people more strait-laced than this in his past life. This was something he was good at. It was just a fact. And right now, Patrick was baring the full force of David’s attention with a litany of “fuck, fuck, fuck” whispered into the space around them.

Patrick’s cock was velvety and smooth and fucking delicious, and it all made David feel fucking glorious. He was responsible for the filthy noises and the unguarded curses tumbling out of Patrick’s gorgeous lips. He hummed around Patrick’s length, encouraging him to let go, and savoring every single second of tearing him apart. It didn’t take much more for Patrick to gasp a little more high-pitched, to shudder and jerk and fist desperately at David’s shoulder in warning before giving up and coming down David’s throat with a long groan.

God, David loved the taste of cum. He licked his lips to make sure he got it all and wiped his chin on the back of his hand as he stood up. His cock was screaming for attention in his still-buttoned jeans, but he kept some distance between them while he helped put Patrick back to rights.

He was going to be able to taste Patrick on his tongue all afternoon if he didn’t end up eating anything. And how fucking great would that be? That thought ran quickly through his mind as he lazily kissed Patrick again letting their tongues tangle sluggishly.

Suddenly Patrick gasped and pulled back, panic in his wide eyes.

“I have to go,” he said hoarsely.

David barely had time to inhale, ready to say something teasing before Patrick was out of his arms, across the shop floor and pulling the main doors open. There was almost a cartoon cloud of dust following him, he moved so fast. And just like that David was alone in the store again. Dick hard and wanting. Wonderful.

Great. Typical.

Fuck. Him.

Anger filled the void in David pretty quickly. It was difficult to believe that he used to live for this sort of drama. It wasn’t the first time he’d had a partner bolt, but it didn’t mean it hurt any less. At least David wouldn’t wake up with a face full of clown make up staining his 1000 thread-count sheets this time. He closed his eyes and pressed the heel of his hand into his groin, telling his cock to settle down. Sex in the store was one thing, jerking off at work was another. _Incorrect_.

Tears were not allowed to prick the sides of his eyes. That was also _incorrect_. So, he took several deep breaths and bit his lips to calm down.

Seriously, fuck that dude. David hoped he never saw him again in his life. Maybe he’d move out of town just as quickly as he apparently moved in.

Fuck right off.

Good riddance.


	2. Yeah But for the Fall

The next week was when Wendy allowed David to make more changes to the store. Soon there were fewer polyester atrocities and more silk and cashmere. He sold off some of the worst stock to resellers on eBay, and some of the furnishings on Craig’s List.

Over the next few weeks, he channeled more of his anger and disgust with his current living situation into the store. He hated that Wendy was ultimately in charge, but she left him mostly to his own devices thank God. She was far too nice and accommodating with it all. Maybe he was taking advantage of that. Maybe just a little. But it was for her own good. The store’s own good.

Or so he thought until Wendy cautioned him against using the store credit card one day. And then the red “Clearance Sale” signs showed up one morning and he knew it was over. He’d fucked up yet again. Some drunk Australians were taking over apparently.

David stewed in his depression and anger for his open to close shift while Wendy dealt with her own drama. Ten more minutes and he could lock the door and be _done_. At least for the day. He silently refused to dwell on what was going to happen next, letting his mind blank out as he stared at the stupid black peacock sculptures. So much for luxury experiences. What a fucking idiot, he chastised himself, leaning against the front of the counter. He was so deep in his own head he didn’t even register the bell as someone walked in. Didn’t even sense their presence until they were standing right in front of him. Only then did he notice the sensible brown oxford dress shoes, the straight-leg jeans, and the braided fucking belt.

 _No_.

No, no, no.

“No,” he said, venom shooting through every carefully exfoliated and moisturized pore in David’s body. “Fuck you.” He did not need this today. Or frankly, ever, but especially not when he’s standing in the middle of this failed, sorry excuse for a retail venture.

“Yeah, I deserve that,” Patrick nodded, looking at his shoes.

He waited for Patrick to continue with excuses and an apology that was too little too late, but the silence stretched on for several seconds.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” David asked finally, willing his voice to stay steady. The furrow in his brow was going to give him premature wrinkles but he couldn’t give a fuck right now with the way Patrick was just standing in front of him, with the nerve to look like a lost puppy. Feeding off the humble energy, David straightened to his full height. He wanted to scream and push and be a fucking mess.

“Either fuck me or get the fuck out,” David spat, turning away to fiddle with nothing on the counter, just not having the strength to look in those honey brown eyes as they rejected him again. When he heard the shuffle of Patrick’s retreating footsteps he sighed long and low, justified in his anger. Of fucking course.

But then the lock clicked.

It was five minutes early, but apparently the shop was now closed, and Patrick’s strong hands turned David around on the spot. Then they pulled him down into a bruising kiss and David had just enough brain power to register the desperation on his face before their lips met. And it was…it was…fucking… _ugh_ it was fucking _perfect_ and _terrible_ and David wanted to…wanted to give into it. Give him _everything_.

“I have a girlfriend,” Patrick whispered against his lips before trailing his mouth along David’s jaw and to that sensitive spot under his ear.

And in the fog of being so fucking turned on, it took a second for the words to register in David’s brain. It took him one more breath to hear it and have the anger flare in his gut, confusion bubbling up his core. He started to push Patrick off, pulling his neck away from his talented, horrible mouth. But Patrick held him firmly, vice grip on both biceps.

“Please,” he begged, screwing up his face in misery, “please David. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

For a split-second David thinks he’ll go with self-preservation and say no. That he’ll actually not make the same mistakes again. But then Patrick swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down with the force of it, eyes locked on David’s, and said, “please” again like he was dying. And the decision was made.

David was going to get fucked and ruin this man’s life.

It was going to hurt, and he was going to _love it_ …for as long as it lasted.

On an inhale his lips met Patrick’s again, and only parted to exhale when he physically couldn’t fit any more air into his lungs. It was a mess of lips and tongue and teeth. Their hands gripped and clawed at each other much too tightly, it hurt, but it was _good_ , and David was trying to pull Patrick further into the back, but it wasn’t remotely elegant. It was dirty and rough, and so fucking hot and David hated it and loved it in equal measure, and he doesn’t fucking care. He just doesn’t care. Let tomorrow-David care.

Patrick’s hips met his, pressing David up against the same changing room wall, and getting him so, so hard. It was sharp and he was desperate for it, chases and craves it, and Patrick’s dick was solid and firm and right fucking there in his pants. So, David tilted his hips and knew exactly the moment Patrick’s brain broke because the noise that came from deep within his throat was so dirty David could have come apart just from that. But he doesn’t, he holds on for the ride because as much as he wanted to come, he also wanted this to last. He wanted to be filled with the anticipation and the wanting and the longing and every ounce of Patrick’s misplaced desire for him.

Fuck logic and propriety, David wanted to get his cock sucked and Patrick, whatever his deal was, seemed more than willing, sinking achingly slowly to his knees. Thank God for a simple button and zip fly and choosing uncomplicated pants that morning because David wasn’t sure he could wait another second to have Patrick’s mouth around his dick. He rucked up his sweater to keep it out of the way while Patrick finally, finally took his full, hot, hard length into his warm, wet mouth and moaned. Uuuuurrrrghh. Moaned so, so sweetly and so filthy. He was not practiced, obviously, but he was trying, and not shy, and that was half the battle of sucking cock. It was the combination of the enthusiasm and those loud fucking eyes watching him, mouth full of dick that send him barreling, careening off the precipice suspended in midair before slamming back down to earth and coming down Patrick’s throat with a shudder.

Again, Patrick was not practiced, but he did his best and didn’t totally choke to death on cum, and he seemed almost proud of himself which was just…incorrect. And he popped back to his feet with far too much energy which was infuriating, especially when he dove back in to kiss David’s mouth when it still tasted like himself. So, David grabbed Patrick out of frustration and to show him who had the upper hand here and pushed him roughly back against the wall. His stupid fucking braided belt was maddening for entirely different reasons and he wants to burn it while he burned down Patrick’s entire life just so someone will feel as miserable as David does.

David’s hands were second only to his mouth in getting people off swiftly and effectively. He didn’t bother to count the strokes, but it was not that many, and Patrick’s precum provided exactly the right amount of lubricant to make him fall totally apart. He shuddered and moaned and gasped to the ceiling, screwing his eyes shut and it was beautiful, and David hated it. Hated it. He hates it.

There was cum covering his hand but luckily there was a shelf of cleaning rags just outside of the room that made quick work of it. …Maybe he would just throw this one away instead of putting it in the store’s laundry service bag. And luckily it didn’t seem to have dripped on Patrick’s awful fucking jeans or mediocre blue button-up shirt that was only one shade different than last time – not that David’s brain was cataloging all this.

“Fuck,” Patrick whispered, putting himself back together and following all of David’s movements with his too loud and earnest eyes.

Fuck was right.

Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.

“You should go...you have a girlfriend, remember?” David’s voice was rough from lust and anger all rolled into one, and the surprised look on Patrick’s face was probably justified but David couldn’t deal with that right now. He hadn’t even counted the till or swept the floor yet. He needed to get the fuck out of here and whatever this was. He didn’t care what this was. He couldn’t.

“David,” Patrick said, hurt seeping through in his voice despite not having a single right to be hurt about what was happening here. He was the one who bolted before. He was the one who came back. He made those decisions. David doesn’t deserve this.

“Go,” he said a little more firmly.

And with a hard swallow and subtle nod, Patrick went.

David counted five breaths after the bell on the door signaled he was really gone and then he yelled, “FUCK!” to the empty store.

In the weeks that follow, David would think about that night every time he passed the changing room. And each time it would stoke the anger that always seemed to be burning in him. He would think about it when Wendy called him to the back to discuss the Australian Blouse Barn in more detail. Patrick’s moan replayed in his head while Alexis pretended to be Angelica Bloomfield, and it’s what spurred him on to get a better deal out of them. He would swear he could taste Patrick’s cum in his throat after Wendy handed him part of her “big fucking check” and they finished boxing up inventory and furnishings that were being sold off. After his last shift, he averted his eyes from _that_ room as he walked out of the door for the last fucking time.

Good riddance.

Good riddance.


	3. Do You Dare Look Him Right In The Eyes?

It was the night of his parents’ anniversary that things started to look up, and David let his guard down. He and Stevie were solidly good and back to normal finally and making out with Jake was the cherry on top of the sundae. He would _definitely_ be seeing more of Jake. A lot more.

A lot.

A lot, a lot.

When he eventually did see _a lot_ more of Jake, it was mind-blowing and sexy and most of all _fun_. Jake knows exactly who he is and what he wants out of life. And later, when Jake held David’s hand and Stevie’s hand over the café table, David only felt mystified, not angry. It was fine. It was…whatever. It was not the relationship he wanted, but then again, David was not a relationship person. He was pretty sure he would claim that until his dying day and that would be _fine_.

At least he has Stevie as a friend again and a little bit of money again and a car and a license and maybe life wasn’t entirely terrible. Especially when he got a glimpse of Ted on the bunny cam. That _really_ made his week.

A couple months, and a few hiccups later, he signed the lease for the old General Store and Ray handed him the keys. David’s a natural salesman, finding himself back in retail was bound to happen. But being the owner again? Now that, _that_ was exciting and full of possibility. He only let a little smidgen of doubt creep in after his mother confessed to supporting his art gallery a little too strongly in their past life. It was…fine. It was whatever. This was _different_ this time. Stevie (incapable-of-faking-sincerity-Stevie) was championing him. So, he built a wall around those past doubts and kept pushing forward with his ideas for the space.

Thank God the previous owners had cleared it almost entirely out after they closed. It was a blank canvas waiting to be built on and crafted into something beautiful. And David knew he could do it. All he needed was incorporation paperwork and he would be official and ready to start all that wonderful hard work.

It was a normal Tuesday morning when David set off to Ray’s, his appointment set for 10am. Normally he would have balked at the early call time, but this was _his_ project, and he was anxious to get started as soon as humanly possible. He had an itemized list several pages long in his journal of the first steps, and he was so happy to be ticking the first one off this morning.

Walking into the middle of a photoshoot in Ray’s front hall was a little much, but not enough to throw him entirely off his game. If he had spent ten more seconds preparing himself for Ray’s chipper pandemonium before he had opened the door, this wouldn’t be an issue. So, he internally braced himself and let himself be handed a deli ticket (B13) and that was…inexplicable but _fine_.

“Patrick!” Ray called to the empty home office corner, and hearing that name isn’t immediately jarring but it should have been. Because when Patrick fucking Brewer walked out of Ray’s kitchen in his medium blue, wrinkle-resistant, off the rack dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, David’s blood ran cold and he rushed to build a solid fucking wall to deal with the man standing in front of him. He didn’t even need to glance down to know Patrick was wearing straight-leg jeans (this time in an acceptable dark wash), and that fucking abomination of a braided belt.

Fuuuuuuuuuuuck.

The only thing of mild comfort is the fact that Patrick’s customer service smile slipped for an instant, and he purposely kept his eyes on Ray while he was making introductions. But too soon they were alone (relatively speaking as Ray was barely the length of the room away) and David was sitting in front of a man who was infuriating and jarring and…and David will look up more adjectives later when his mind wasn’t solely focused on not throwing up or throwing punches. Not that fisticuffs are something he has experience with.

“So,” Patrick cleared his throat, obviously torn between looking directly at David and looking anywhere else. David, on the other hand, stared him down. “David Rose, you bought the General Store?”

“Leased,” David clarified through clenched teeth. This asshole obviously didn’t do any sort of preparation for this meeting. What a fucking piece of work.

“Right, leased,” he paused, his face softening. “That’s a pretty big deal.”

“I guess,” David said flatly. The sooner this meeting was over the sooner he could get on with the rest of his life.

Patrick took a visible, preparatory breath and exhaled slowly through his nose. He was obviously rattled, and it made David feel good and powerful.

“Listen David, can we talk?” Patrick whispered, bouncing his eyes over to Ray who was still mid-photo session.

“Can we just get this paperwork started instead?” David replied. If he could answer everything as flatly as possible then Patrick would never know how effected his was by their past encounters, and his presence in the flesh now.

“Umm,” Patrick breathed again, “Yeah. Sure.” He shuffled some papers in his hand and clicked his pen twice distractedly. “Let’s start with the name of the business?”

“Rose Apothecary.” David had been oscillating between names, but in the light of day, with Patrick’s scrutiny the answer came easily.

“Oh, I kinda like it,” Patrick smiled down at the paper as he wrote. “Just pretentious enough.”

How fucking dare –

“Business address?” Patrick continued.

Seething with internal rage, David answered each of Patrick’s questions as they came. He explained the crux of the idea without faltering once, even when Patrick glanced up from the form to look him in the eye once or twice. David knew what he wanted to do with the store. He knew what was going to work, and how it would benefit both the crafter and the store, and he knew how to keep the consignment business afloat by offering popular everyday essentials in the backroom. Yes, it was a General Store, but it was also a very specific store too. It was a goddamn branded immersive experience, and it was going to be fucking amazing. _Thankyouverymuch_.

“How’s it going, boys?” Ray said, appearing suddenly over David’s shoulder.

“Pretty well, Ray,” Patrick replied, matching his chipper tone, and putting on a fake as hell smile until Ray had moved on through to the kitchen.

“Are we done here?” David asked, noting that Patrick had reached the bottom of the final page of the form.

“Um, yeah, I think I have everything the review board will need,” Patrick shuffled the paper into a neat stack and stood. David followed suit, itching to end this interaction.

“David,” Patrick said slowly, his earnest fucking eyes staring David down.

“What?” he snapped, low enough that Ray wouldn’t be able to hear.

Patrick gaped at him for a beat, mouth opening and then closing. “No, I just…I just I think you’ve hit it out of the park here. This is a really good business plan.” And then the asshole had the nerve to extend his hand.

If David hadn’t sensed Ray standing in the kitchen, able to see them, he would have sneered and bolted. Instead, he clenched his jaw and brought his hand up for the briefest of contact. Enough to pump their hands up and down once, but not enough to feel the warmth linger for several seconds, or the zing of pleasure that started in his pinky finger and zipped through his elbow and shoulder.

No.

He didn’t feel that.


	4. They Will Run You Down

Six days later, the following Monday, David unpacked the brand-new cash register drawer and touchscreen display and laid it all out on the counter. It was…intimidating. He’s a Millennial so technology should come easy, but this was…something else entirely. There were wires and boxes that are supposed to spit out receipts. Besides, David is an _Elder_ _Millennial_ and was in between iPads when their family lost everything. There were like, three generations of Apple products since then. The Feds took all the most current computer stuff to search for Eli, leaving them with a singular ten-year-old laptop that everyone else seemed to need more than he did.

Anyway, the cash/till thing could probably wait until after lunch when he was more awake and better fed. So, he assessed the furniture set up for the umpteenth time, and sorted product into categories instead, making sure it matched up with the Google Sheets list he started on his phone. And when he was satisfied with his work on that he grabbed a sandwich from the café and ate it in the back room at the desk.

It was kind of lonely work, all of this. Alexis and Stevie had helped him move some boxes, his parents had peeked in the other day on their way to dinner at the café, but this was _his_ job to see this all through. As daunting as that was, it was also thrilling. He called all the shots. If he wanted a window display entirely made up of plants, he could fucking do that. He’d have pothos trailing branches fucking everywhere if he wanted. 

But first he had to be able to take people’s money and record those sales for the government so he could file taxes as a business and not get screwed out of everything. Okay. Okay, he could do this.

About five minutes later, he was swearing under his breath and poking random cables into random slots and mad at himself for being an idiot. That was also when the antique bell on the door chimed and he nearly jumped out of his skin when a pair of whiskey brown eyes met his.

Fuck. What now?

“Hi,” Patrick took three tentative steps into the store, stopping in front of the counter where the tech carnage was still on full display. Maybe he wouldn’t notice.

David nodded to the manilla envelope in Patrick’s hands and stood up straighter, he definitely didn’t have the energy to make it a fight today and wanted to get this business interaction over with so he could get back to _his_ business. “Something I forgot to do for my paperwork?” he asked by way of returning the greeting.

“Oh! No. …No, just bringing your license by. Everything’s in order,” Patrick said, handing over the envelope.

It was much heavier than just a piece of paper, and solid. “Oh. …That was fast,” David relaxed a little, relieved to hear it wasn’t yet another thing he had failed at so quickly. “I thought the form said ten to twelve business days? It’s not even been a full week.” He peeked inside the envelope and pulled out the silver frame (slight ew) commemorating the official start of his business, then set it aside.

“Umm…yeah,” Patrick nodded slowly, averting his gaze almost guiltily. “I um…I asked them to expedite it. …Knew you wanted to…wanted to get up and running.”

What? “Oh! …Um, you didn’t have to do that.” Were they actually having a civil conversation?

“No, I…I wanted to…and I think I owed you one. A favor, I mean.”

Well, wasn’t that a euphemistic understatement.

“Okay, well, like I said, you didn’t have to. I still obviously have a ton of work to do before I can even _think_ about opening, so.” David swept his arms around palms up, indicating the general chaos, and the specific chaos of the cash register in pieces between them.

“Sure, sure,” Patrick looked around, hands shoved deep in his pockets, not actually stepping away from where he was rooted. “I can help set up that P.O.S. if you want,” he nodded to the detritus on the counter.

“P.O.S?” David asked, “This is a piece of shit?! But it was the one recommended in the Canadian Small Business Owners subreddit.” Of fucking course David would pick a dud.

“Oh!” Patrick gasped, almost laughed. “No, sorry, Point of Sale. This is a good one, David. …You’re…you’re actually doing great so far.”

Oh.

“Um, thank you? …And…please, help yourself, I guess.” David stepped out of the way as Patrick came around the counter and started gently moving bits around. David was not about to turn down free tech support, but his skin itched with all the niceness happening. He was supposed to hate this man. What the fuck?

After about twenty minutes, Patrick had everything assembled in a configuration that more closely resembled the picture on the outside of the box. Twenty minutes after that, David heard the paper tape whirring through the printer in a test run. In that time David had managed to get all of the bath products out of their boxes and on to the built-ins in the corner. So, that felt like a giant step forward for the day.

“It’s all set,” Patrick said a short while later, standing close to David and pulling a box of soy tealights closer to himself to stock the next shelf.

“Um, great. Thank you. …You don’t have to…” David tried to grab the box back, but Patrick kept it out of his reach. “You really don’t,” he tried again, but Patrick held firm.

“David…” Patrick took a deep breath, his cheeks turning slightly pink.

“Fine,” David sighed. “Suit yourself,” and he busied himself with his own boxes of stock. He had ten boxes of stationary that needed arranging in the hutch and he didn’t want to fight about it. It didn’t matter. It was fine.

Patrick’s soft throat clear a minute later made David simultaneously refocus and on-edge like a spooked animal. What was with this guy and his effect on David’s central nervous system?

“I broke up with my girlfriend,” Patrick kept his eyes locked on the box in front of him, so David wasn’t assaulted by too much sincerity or other human emotion. “That…that first day. I…we had just moved…”

“You don’t have to do this,” David interrupted him. He didn’t need to hear this, whatever it was. He was fine.

“I want to,” Patrick said a little more forcefully, so David kept his mouth shut and let him get it all out.

Fine.

Patrick proceeded to tell him in so many words that his ex-girlfriend was very nearly his fiancée, that Patrick had planned on proposing even though he didn’t want to, and it hadn’t ever felt right. It was what he was expected to do, so he was going to do it. His story starts and stops and it’s a little out of sequence, but David learns that the ex (Rachel) is a regional manager for the chain that manages the spa in Elmdale. That was why he was in the area, she wanted to move closer to her cluster of branches and they were going to live together finally. Patrick was going to do consulting unless he found something more permanent.

The day he met David was the final day of their romantic relationship. The next time...they um, _saw_ each other... it was a moment of panic to lie about still being with her, wanting David to reject him so he could feel…something. He thought he definitely deserved the rejection. But David hadn’t rejected him.

Rachel had stayed his roommate until Patrick came across the job (and room) with Ray a few weeks ago. He didn’t realize David lived in Schitt’s Creek, he wasn’t stalking him or anything. Just a happy coincidence.

“Wait, so you kept living with your ex for what? Months?” David asked, horrified at the possibility of having to do that with any of his exes – with the exception of Stevie.

“Um, yeah. It wasn’t so bad. We’re still good friends,” Patrick crouched to fill the bottom shelf and David followed him down, sitting hard on the floor, mesmerized with the story at this point for some reason.

“Wow, that must have been the most amicable break up in history.”

“Oh, well, no. It was tough, and awkward at first. …And then I finally told her that I’m gay, and she…she really understood. I mean, she was really mad at me for cheating on her, but…that’s understandable. It was a shitty thing to do. To her. And you.”

Oh.

Oh fuck.

“You have every right to be mad at me for the rest of your life, David. But being with you made me realize a lot of things about myself. So, I can’t…I don’t totally regret it. And I…I know I hurt you…But I'm glad I've gotten to see you again.” Patrick looked a little wrecked suddenly. There may have been tears in his eyes even.

But David’s world was at serious risk of being turned upside down if he kept talking. So rarely had he been a queer experiment and then actually had the person live their truth afterward. Never ever had that happened and then the person wanted to keep hanging around him. It felt…very weird…and like too much responsibility. And it didn’t excuse anything that Patrick had done.

Before Patrick could say anything else, there were three figures standing on the pavement outside, peering ridiculously through the windows, and making way too much noise. David checked his phone and realized how late it had gotten without them realizing it.

“I have to go meet my family,” David said, standing and setting his empty box aside.

“Oh,” Patrick stood too, surreptitiously wiping his cheeks. “Okay. Well, I guess…I guess I’ll-”

“Oh my God, David!” Alexis interrupted whatever it was he was going to say, bursting through the door with a loud clang. She was grinning from ear to ear so David couldn’t be that mad. “Look at this place! Look at your little shelves with their little products!”

David remained rooted to the spot while his family entered, and Patrick half introduced himself before making an excuse to leave. David couldn’t blame his desire to escape the madness that was the full Rose clan. He made the unfortunate mistake of watching Patrick leave and catching his deafening, apologetic eyes as he exited.

Well, fuck. 


	5. Down 'Til The Dark

The Friday after Patrick dropped off the framed license, David begrudgingly mounted it to the wall behind the counter. He always had people to install the artwork at his gallery, so he was not great at it. And he didn't want to damage the tile so there was lots of experimenting with sticky strips. And in the end, it was maybe at a weird height but at least it was level.

Alexis and Stevie both came in to help (to varying degrees) stock and sort for a few hours each on previous days. But David spends most of his time alone, making executive decisions about every product and every display, and it’s all his. And his Google Sheet inventory was lengthy now and becoming unwieldy, but he hasn’t figured out how to upload it into the P.O.S. system yet and hasn’t had the family laptop for the day to make the time to figure it out.

He managed to get the speaker system set up early the next week, so he’s able to put his playlist-of-the-moment on while he works, and he lets his guard down because this was fun. This is his space, and he’s building it all.

“Are daytime dance parties going to become an official thing here?”

David startled and whipped around, realizing now that he’s not alone anymore. Patrick, clutching the strap of his messenger bag slung across his broad chest, and his stupid braided belt were stood on the mat by the door. David hadn’t heard the bell over the music, so he quickly grabbed his phone and flips to the Bluetooth controls to turn it down.

“What’s…what…” David stammered, brain trying to play catch-up and keep embarrassment at bay. But Patrick was grinning, and it was infuriating how good he looked. David settles on, “Why are you here?” and that was effective at wiping the mirth off his adorable face.

“I um, well, I’m here because I think you need more startup money,” Patrick said, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet.

“And how exactly am I going to get that?” David bit back, willing his anxiety to stay in check until he could be alone to freak out about that.

“Well…I could…There are grants that help small businesses, and I think Rose Apothecary qualifies for several of them. So, I could…I’m more than happy to submit the applications for you.”

David blinked dumbly for a moment, expecting more but also processing. He didn’t have enough money to succeed? He was officially being told his business wasn’t sustainable? What a great fucking morning.

“Okay,” he said at last. “Thank you?”

Patrick just nodded a few times and twisted on the spot nervously. “How’s the piece of shit doing?” he gestured toward the counter, but it takes David a second to realize he’s making a joke.

“It’s um, it’s fine. I haven’t actually…um, uploaded the inventory, thingy yet,” David scrunched up his face with the confession. “So, it’s the same as how you left it.”

“Oh!” Patrick looked genuinely shocked. “I can… I mean, I have my laptop with me,” he patted his bag helpfully, “I can set it up for you.”

And fuck, why did he keep showing up like a white knight with all these helpful skills and equipment?

So, David took a deep breath and acquiesced and then shared the Google Sheet with Patrick, so now they have each other’s email addresses which is…sure. And Patrick set up a space at the counter with his computer open and explained that he has to “convert it” to an Excel file and David did a “great job” getting it started but if it was going to upload properly Patrick needed to make a “few changes” and there were a million other little things that he said but David didn’t understand them, so he just pressed his lips together and nodded while he arranged more stock.

When Patrick was apparently done, he smacked the lid of his computer closed and flashed a self-satisfied smile at David and chirped, “All set!”

And David thought that meant Patrick was going to leave but then he has a few more things to show David on the touchscreen, and their arms brush when Patrick reached across to point out the button that turns on Online Sales (“Only when you’re ready for that!”) and David had to step back after that, feeling like he might burn up from the inside out.

There was a moment after that, that David worried was going to turn into Patrick asking him out to lunch, and he hadn’t yet come up with a good excuse for why he can’t do that. But luckily, Patrick got a phone call from Ray, asking him to cover for him for some realtor thing, and he had to leave. He seemed very reluctant about it, giving a weak wave through the doorway, but it was for David’s best interest.

Days later, a stark reminder from his old life waltzed into town and nearly derailed every inch forward David had managed to crawl.

Sebastien Raine.

_Mother. fucker._

And quite literally he was trying to fuck over David’s mother, which was _not_ going to stand. He called David “healthy” like it was an _insult_ and yet looked like he hadn’t showered in days. David’s blood pressure was spiking the whole 24 hours he was in town, and it only solidified what a horrible fucking person he was.

And the only bright side of any of it was that David got thoroughly fucked into the mattress (Sebastien was only useful for a good lay) and he got to finally, _finally_ wipe the smirk off Sebastien’s smug face. It would never totally make up for what he had done to David before…but it was _something_. And yes, if he let himself think about it for too long it was a little cringey and depressing, but David was an expert at not letting himself think about it. He was spinning this one. He was the victor here.

The next day, David finally called the electrician, and his new light fixtures were installed with no issues, so the only thing stopping him from opening was…nothing. He sketched an invitation for "Friends and Family" in his notebook and managed to get his phone to take a good scan of it, so he sent it out in an email to his “friends” (Stevie, Ted, Twyla, Jocelyn, Ronnie, Wendy) and family (Alexis, Television’s Moira Rose and by proxy his dad too) for whom he had email addresses. Then he quickly realized that was _not_ enough people for even the softest of launches. So, he asked for Alexis’s help in spreading the word a little farther and she went to the trouble of having the invitation he drew scanned and printed in Elm Glenn and then handed them out in person. Which was...really nice of her.

Later in bed, he kept staring at the first invitation email and heaved a big sigh before forwarding it to Patrick and Ray - BCC’d of course, so it wouldn’t look lame or personal. They would get it at the same time and David would not have to burst into flames.

The morning of the opening he got a later start than he would have liked, but it was his damn store so whatever. He did not expect the line of people that was wrapping around the outside to be there, and he frantically cursed out Alexis via text after Darlene’s cousin swore at him. He took his time to breathe and make sure all the lights were on and set out the cheese next to the wine before he flipped the sign and opened the door right on time.

Most of the people in the queue were conscientious and didn’t crowd in immediately, but it was hectic from the jump. Jocelyn was asking him about a bag of tea when the deep brown eyes and braided belt walked in again. Patrick spotted him almost just as quickly and then gestured to the till where three people were apparently waiting to be rung up. Fuck! Before David could excuse himself from the Schitts, Patrick was already settled in behind the touchscreen, wearing his customer service smile as he scanned and bagged the purchases.

When he finally had a spare two seconds, David fully intended on dismissing Patrick and taking over. But before the words could leave his mouth Patrick shooed him away and insisted, “I got this. Just go upsell the heck out of everyone.”

David resigned himself to being helped, just for today. He has to get stock from the back once or twice, so he heard snippets of Patrick’s conversations with customers. Everyone was so congratulatory and thankful that he did something so beautiful with the space, and that was more than slightly overwhelming.

Hours later, on one of his trips to the back for a cable-knit sweater in grey instead of ecru, Patrick stopped him in the doorway.

“I’ll take that,” he said, the sweater grabbed from his hands before David can protest, and Patrick passes a plate of cheese and crackers to him instead.

Rather than argue with business majors in bad shoes, or good cheese, David sat for five minutes and ate slowly.

It went like that for a few more hours, customers ebbing and flowing. David’s parents showed up fashionably late of course. The rush died down around dinner time, which was good because it was almost the posted closing time anyway and David wasn’t sure he could confront paying customers on his first day.

There were only a handful of people left inside – whom he had already greeted. The relative lull left David with no one to upsell for the moment, so he made his way back over to the counter where he felt most comfortable passing the time. Not to mention that Patrick was still there.

“Why are you helping me?” David asked after a beat, steeling himself for Patrick’s too intense eyes.

“Because I want to, David.” His eyes _are_ devastating, but they also bounce quickly to the few customers left in the store who were smelling each of the bath bombs ten times before they select one. “And…I like you.” It came out in a rush before a middle-age woman David had never seen before in his life placed her selected products on the counter, ready to check out.

And David didn’t get a chance to freak out or protest or anything because another customer queued up behind her, and then one of the ones in the back smelling every single one of the fucking bath bombs for an hour now – even though there are only four fucking scents – caught his eye, apparently in need of assistance.

At 7pm, David’s customer service smile had nearly broken his jaw. He saved up enough energy to use it one last time as the final customer exits, and he kept it on while locking the door behind them just in case. He was physically exhausted and emotionally drained and now he had to clean up and Patrick was still in his fucking store, not leaving him alone.

“Um,” he cleared his throat, startled by how rough it was from talking to what felt like every single resident in the Greater Elms area. “I guess…thank you for your help?” It was meant to be a dismissal, a signal that Patrick’s presence was no longer required here. But Patrick just grabbed the broom out of the back and began sweeping.

“I’m happy to help,” he said with a shrug, not slowing or stopping.

“Okay,” David said with more force. This was _his store_. He really wanted to be done. He was _so_ done. “You don’t have to do that. It’s my store, I’ll close up.”

“David, look at this place,” Patrick finally stopped and gestured at the general disarray of literally everything. “You’ll never get out of here tonight if you don’t have help.”

And loath though he was to admit it, Patrick was right. It was going to take all night and David was going to get hangry in exactly thirty minutes. So, he let his sigh rush through his whole body and resigned himself to having Patrick helping. Just this once. Again.

It turned out to be a good thing Patrick stayed because David realized quickly that he didn’t know how to close out the register for the night. The button he thought was supposed to Do The Thing, was not Doing The Thing and he didn’t fucking need this right now!

After his second audible groan and fourth time poking the screen with more force than was needed, Patrick appeared at his side.

“Hey, let me,” he said, inching in closer.

David jumped back a meter in surprise and frustration, but Patrick was a whiz with the stupid piece of shit P.O.S. and had the report running on the screen in an instant. To keep some self-preservation and distance and to get this over with, David picked up the broom where Patrick had left it and refocused on cleaning up instead.

He got in the zone, facing shelves as he passed them, mentally noting which items will need to be restocked in the morning. By the time he heard the loud click of the empty cash drawer popping back open after the end of the report run, it could be ten minutes or an hour for all he knew. For half of a split-second, he thought Patrick had silently taken off, left him alone at last, possibly stolen all the cash he made that day. Visions of Eli in the Caymans with cartoon money bags flash in his mind. But no, there was a soft clink of coins coming from the stock room/office and a sturdy zipper being pulled closed as Patrick walked back out carrying the bank deposit bag.

“You made quite the haul today, David,” Patrick smiled and bounced the bag gently in his hand like he was weighing it. It did look heavy. And full. And it was making Patrick’s arm muscles fucking flex.

Letting his tired as fuck feet carry him forward, David met him behind the counter. “How much exactly?”

“Feel it for yourself,” Patrick waited for David to lift his hands enough to carry the weight before passing it over.

It _was_ heavy.

Good.

A heavy deposit bag meant lots of sales which meant the first day was a success. A genuine smile crossed David’s face unbidden and he only knew it was happening because his cheeks still really hurt from the (mostly) fake one he had been wearing all damn day. And his tired brain took a few seconds to realize that Patrick was smiling gently back at him. It was kind and happy and too fucking sincere.

Quickly, he breezed around Patrick and placed the bag into the office safe, noting the cash tray with the float ready for tomorrow on the bottom shelf. Patrick had thought of everything and taken care of David when he needed the help and wouldn’t admit it. Fuck.

“Congratulations, man,” Patrick said gently from the office doorway. “This was a great first day.”

 _Man_. Ugh.

His first day was a success yes, but now to do that six days a week for the rest of his life. _Fuck_. David could feel his heartrate ratcheting up, his breathing too shallow. Oh God. Not now. Please not now. He did not need to have a panic attack (the first one in like, a year) with Patrick fucking Brewer standing right there.

David closed his eyes tightly, trying to concentrate on remembering how to breathe but it was impossible. He felt himself sit hard on the floor, legs crisscrossed which was probably the wrong posture, but he couldn’t move them anymore, and he couldn’t fucking-.

“Breathe, David,” Patrick’s voice was soft and right by his ear, and annoyingly it was kind of helping.

Unshed tears were stinging his eyes, so David kept them closed and clenched every muscle in his body which was also probably not what he was supposed to be doing.

“Just focus on your breaths and get them to match mine, okay?” Patrick sucked in a breath audibly and held it for a beat before breathing out again. “Just like that, okay? In, two, three. And out, two, three.”

David did as Patrick guided and listened to the air whooshing slowly in and out of their noses and mouths in tandem. It was hypnotic and doing the trick to ease the panic that had taken over David’s chest. It was just the exhaustion of the day, and the daunting possibility of succeeding or failing on his own. He knew all that going into this, it should not come as a surprise. At least this store was _his_. His baby. That was sort of comforting again.

Eventually, feeling marginally better, David opened his eyes and flexed his fingers which had cramped from being clenched so tightly. Now his palms ached from way his fingernails had dug into them. But Patrick’s large, warm hand was sliding gently up and down his back and his breathing was normal again at least.

Suddenly aware of being vulnerable in front of his present company David stiffened and shrunk a little back into himself. He was fine now. He didn’t need to be comforted anymore.

“You should go,” David tried to make the words flat, unaffected, but his vocal cords betrayed him and wavered instead.

“Oh,” Patrick stilled and quickly removed his hand from David’s back, but didn’t move away from where he was still crouched next to him.

“What?” David asked, softer than he meant it to be.

“I just…I still wanted to talk…but no. I totally get it. Not the time.” Finally, Patrick stood and took one step then two back toward the doorway. “David, I…” he sighed low in his chest, caution written in every sound. “I just want to say how sorry I am again. For hurting you. And…and I think your store is amazing.” Patrick turned and took two more steps toward the doorway before apparently remembering something else and turned back again. “Seriously, congratulations on today. …Okay…that’s it.”

David held stock-still until the bell above the door and the click of the old school latch alerted him to Patrick’s exit. Even then he remained seated on the floor, too tired to move, too drained to think. It was well past his usual dinner time and sure, he felt hunger, but also, very empty. His bag was just out of arm’s reach, but it wasn’t likely to hold any snacks. Not once in his life had David bought a granola bar. If he searched hard enough there might be a singular chicklet of gum in one of the pockets. He promised himself five more minutes of floor sitting and then he’d get up and see if the café was still open. But barring that, he knew there were yoghurt cups in the mini fridge at the motel.

So, he rested back against the small couch he managed to miss during his panic attack collapse, and still didn’t feel like moving to sit on, and counted down from one thousand. Before he even reached seven hundred, the bell over the door chimed again.

Fuck! Who the fuck was that?!

And then the lock clicked into place.

The panic didn’t have time to return, and he didn’t even have to find his voice because Patrick strode right through the doorway to the office. He stopped in his tracks when he noticed David sitting in exactly the same position as when he had left a few minutes ago.

“I um,” he held up a white plastic bag unmistakably filled with takeout from the café. “I got you a burger and fries…and a cookie…they were out of cake.”

David felt his face contorting in confusion, both at having Patrick back in his space so quickly and familiarly, and with the obvious peace offering in the form of food.

“I don’t…” Patrick cleared his throat and tried to look at David directly but was apparently having trouble with that. “I don’t know if you feel like celebrating, but you need to eat. …And I would like to eat _with_ _you_ …but if you’d rather I piss off I completely understand that too. So. Tell me what to do here, David.”

Heaving a big sigh, David climbed to his feet slowly and took the bag from Patrick’s hand. Fine. He was right. He should eat and they might as well do it together. David wasn’t likely to die from being in Patrick’s presence for a little bit longer.

“Have a seat,” he said, gesturing vaguely before pulling up a large cardboard box as a makeshift table. He had to use scissors on the plastic bag where Twyla or George had tied it too tightly. So, he clocked Patrick’s assessment of the seating options and ultimate decision to take the desk chair. David settled on the farther end of the lumpy little two-seater couch. He staunchly refused to acknowledge the other common word for it.

They ate in relative silence for a short time, the only soundtrack their mutual quiet chewing and napkins rustling.

“I think there’s still half a bottle of wine,” David said offhandedly. The salty fries were making him thirsty and he should probably have some water but where was the fun or celebration in that?

“I’ll go check,” Patrick set down his food before striding back to the shop floor where he evidently found the bottle and clean cups. And David definitely noticed that when he sat back down it was on the couch and not the desk chair again. Patrick set the glasses up carefully and David took the bottle and poured one pretty full cup for Patrick and then thought better of dirtying another disposable cup and took a big swig directly from the bottle himself. If it fazed Patrick, David didn’t catch it.

“What did you want to talk about?” David asked, returning to picking at his fries.

Now _that_ fazed Patrick, and David definitely caught it and smiled a little to himself. They might as well do this. David might as well flay himself open, rip off a million band-aids so he could build his wall back up and move on with his life.

“Oh, I um,” Patrick paused and took a giant sip of his wine. “I still feel like I haven’t done enough…enough for you to forgive me…if you ever will.”

“That’s what today was about?” David interrupted. “And last week? You helped me out because you still want forgiveness?”

“No!” Patrick insisted, that worried, injured look back on his face. “No, I helped because it seemed like you needed it, and…I want your store to succeed, David.”

Oh. …Okay.

“No, the…my…it’s not _about_ _me_. Okay?” Patrick continued emphatically. “I just…I want to see you happy. And I know I’m at least part of the reason why you are _un_ happy. And maybe you can _never_ totally forgive me, and my presence is a nuisance to you, and if that’s true please tell me now. Tell me now and I will leave you alone forever, I swear.” Patrick studied his plastic wine cup intently, letting his shoulders droop with the weight of the world. He looked as tired as David felt. And well, fuck, they had spent the entire day doing the same thing so that seemed valid.

Without looking up, Patrick pressed on, “Do you want me to leave you alone forever, David?”

Why was his name on Patrick’s lips like a fucking siren’s song?

David shook his head slowly.

Because he didn’t want Patrick out of his life forever, did he? He didn’t want to forget what he smelled like when he got worked up, or what he felt like when he was about to fall apart, or what he tasted like on every part of his tongue. David wanted to remember those things every damn day for the rest of his life. And more. And it was going to kill him.

“Do you want me to leave you alone tonight?” Patrick asked, swallowing the last of his wine and finally meeting David’s eyes.

David emptied the wine bottle in three more swigs and set it carefully on the ground out of the way. Then he settled back on the cushions and shook his head slowly.

There was a fuzzy buzz in the air and in his veins, and it was probably the wine, and definitely the exhaustion, but it was also Patrick’s stubble against his cheek, and the fast lub-dub of Patrick’s heartbeat under his palm. Because somehow David was straddling Patrick’s lap, held in place firmly with Patrick’s hands on his hips and outer thighs. And he didn’t remember how he got there, but his brain was swimming with the feel of him. Patrick’s mouth was just as sweet and inviting as David remembered, and sure, his tongue tasted different because of the wine and the food, but the way it moved against his own was still sending adrenaline surging to his fucking toes.

The sweet little gasps that Patrick made each time their lips parted confirmed for David that they were going to christen this stupid couch that barely fit in here – and that David said was pointless when Stevie insisted he have it from the motel’s storage. She had been right then, and David was silently grateful to her now, now that he was unraveling Patrick with just his mouth on his jaw, and his hands scrabbling for purchase in his short hair.

He wanted this. _They_ wanted this. It was, yes, yet again happening in a store quick and dirty, but…it felt…maybe better. They knew each other a little better, had seen each other at their worst. Had _done_ this with each other during their worst. And there was _a lot_ more trust that needed to be built, but it wasn’t from scratch. There was something...more...forming underneath them.

So, when Patrick shifted to bodily move David onto his back, he went willingly and actually smiled with the thrill of being manhandled. And he keened underneath Patrick when he sucked so beautifully at that spot on his neck that set his blood on fire. And they still didn’t get a lot of clothes off before their dicks were out, chests heaving with the need to breathe through their arousal, grinding their hips together in tandem. And fuck, David missed this. Missed Patrick’s mouth and his hands and his cock and his tender, earnest eyes that he couldn’t hide from. He only had it twice before and he fucking craved it.

“Wait,” David panted. “Lube. That shelf.” He attempted to point above his head and luckily Patrick seemed to understand, shifting up to reach the open box marked “Organic Personal Lubricant” in Marilyn’s loopy script. The movement had the wonderful consequence of bring Patrick’s cock almost to David’s face level. So, David scootched down a little further into the couch and craned his neck to suck the head into his mouth and mmmmm, yeah, he missed that. Hot and red and so, so delicious.

“Fuck, David that’s not fair,” Patrick protested, pulling his hips back and settling his weight over David again, teasing with a slight tilt and grind. “I want to watch you come,” he whispered into David’s neck. “I want to make you feel so good. …Please? Please let me make you feel good.”

“Yes,” David gasped, his body jolting when Patrick wrapped a lubed hand around his length.

Ooooh. Fuuuuck. Yes.

Patrick’s hand was firm and relentless, and so, so effective at its task. He hovered over David to give himself enough room to maneuver and the way his little button face went slack and then taught and somewhere in between was a brilliant sight to behold. David glanced between his face and his hand and just enjoyed both while he felt keyed up and drawn tight until he couldn’t take it anymore and he was coming into Patrick’s fist. He pushed his own shirt further up and out of the way just in time, his own breaths not yet back to normal when Patrick grunted out his own release, mostly into his hand, but yes, a little on David. And fuck that was hot – literally and figuratively. Even hotter when Patrick brought his hand up to his face to catch a lose drip of cum from escaping down his wrist.

David sent a little “thank you” into the universe to whoever packed their dinner at the café and put far too many napkins in the bag, because he wouldn’t have been able to live through Patrick licking himself any cleaner. After a perfunctory wipe of Patrick’s hand and David’s stomach, they put themselves back away in their pants and sat silently side by side for a second.

“I should let you get home,” Patrick said finally, awkwardly.

 _Should_. Which meant he didn’t want to. Didn’t want to run away this time or be summarily dismissed.

David just nodded.

“I just...want you to know I didn't come here for... _that_."

"Oh?" It did seem to keep happening, didn't it?

"Yeah...so...can…can we talk tomorrow?"

“We can talk whenever you like,” David replied quietly.

“The thing is…I don’t have your number,” Patrick tried to hide his smile, but David spotted it.

David sighed and held out his hand, wiggling his fingers until Patrick handed over his phone. It was an Android which was…perfectly on-brand…and the lock and home screens were both one of the standard abstract pictures that came pre-loaded. Nothing about this man was David’s typical match. He wasn’t into fashion or art or anything that David was interested in. On paper they had so little in common.

So why was David so eagerly entering his name and number into Patrick’s contacts? Why was he holding up the camera to take a cute selfie for his caller ID photo?

The answer to the first was unthinkable right now. The answer to the second was because every time Patrick looked at it, David wanted him to remember the fact that they both still had each other’s cum drying on their skin.

Patrick’s charmed face when David finally handed back his phone was priceless. Exhaustion be damned, David felt powerful again and weak at the same time, and he loved it.

He loved it.


	6. Down 'Til The Fall

David rolled out of bed later than he meant to _again_ and rushed through his morning routine to make it to open the store on time for its second day. _His_ store. His fucking beauty of a store. He couldn’t even be mad about the crazed start.

There was no queue wrapping around in front of his mother’s garden today, but the stream of customers was steady all morning, leaving him little time to think about lunch, let alone try to have some. In the few seconds between ringing up customers, he was able to have a momentary thought about re-listing the store’s hours. He had been open for one and a half days and was already worried about burn out.

The door opened with a jangle of the bell for the whatever-th time that day and David already had “Welcome to Rose Apothecary” on his lips before he realized who it was.

“Patrick,” he said surprised, intrigued, mad, worried, aroused. All of those things at once.

“Hey,” Patrick waved meekly and strode right behind the counter without stopping. “I brought you lunch, go take a break.”

And David found himself being handed a takeout bag, and gently but firmly directed through to the office. For about one instant he thought about protesting, but then his stomach growled and that was the end of that thought.

He ate quickly, not wanting to take advantage of Patrick’s kind gesture too much. Which, okay, that was new, the not wanting to take advantage. Taking advantage was like, a hallmark of his personality in the before times. It was certainly the M.O. of every single one of his former acquaintances. He refused to call them friends after all this time with zero contact.

He joined Patrick back out behind the counter and immediately assessed the status of the front room products. He should really go and check on the back room stuff too. But first he wanted to relieve Patrick of his post and begin silently dwelling on why his presence was so…so…

“You don’t have to rush back out here,” Patrick said, half turning to address David while he rang up some candles and eye cream for a woman David recognized from Twyla’s yoga classes.

David plastered on his customer service smile and thanked her for coming in before responding to Patrick. “Well, you didn’t have to bring me lunch, so.”

“You should relax while you can. While I’m here,” Patrick insisted.

“And I did that, and now I’m done. So, you don’t have to stay. But thank you very much for coming by and bringing food again. It was…really nice.” David kept his voice low to not draw the attention of the smattering of customers milling around, but he also shooed at Patrick gently to get him to move out from behind the counter.

Patrick sighed but followed David’s direction, settling in front of the register instead. “Listen,” he started seriously, “I have a proposal for you.” David stood up straighter, anxious about where this was going. “You’ve taken on a lot here. And this store is important to the town. And that’s a lot for you to shoulder alone. …I sent in the grant applications, but it will be a little while until we hear back. Some are on rolling deadlines, but others are reviewed only quarterly. When you get that money, you’ll be able to hire someone to help you out around here. And I…I was wondering if you’d consider me…for the position?”

Oh.

Huh.

“You don’t have to answer right now, you can think about it, and I should probably forward you my resumé. But I have a lot of experience with running businesses and I could help out with the…with the stuff that doesn’t come as naturally to you.” Patrick glanced pointedly at the P.O.S. and was kind enough not to make his eyes too much of a tease.

The little jerk.

“That’s…” David took a deep breath. “That’s an interesting idea.” He had to think about this. He couldn’t just dive right into this with a man who was…whatever they were. “I’m not saying no,” he said finally, tapping the edge of the counter unconsciously.

“Great! That’s a good start,” Patrick joked. “But no, really, please…think about it. In the meantime, how about I come by and at least provide lunch relief for you?”

“Wait, don’t you already have a job or… _twelve_ with Ray?”

“Um, sort of? Honestly, he’s running his own show just fine, and my client list for freelance consulting isn’t that long. So, it’s not like…not like I have other commitments you need to worry about.”

David nodded and let it all sink in, and Patrick took pity on them both and left shortly after.

Stevie stopped in at the end of the day and sat on the counter chatting while he finished all his closing duties. She made impressed noises when he hefted the daily deposit bag into the safe and kept her idle hands busy facing the products on the shelves while he swept.

“So, he just told you to hire him?” She asked, working on the body milks.

“Basically. He said he cared about the store…or the town cares? And he cares by proxy?” David answered, keeping the full force of the truth to himself. He had told her they had ‘hooked up’ once but hadn’t gone into details, and half explained how Patrick had been helping generally, and specifically with register coverage.

“Wow.”

“What?” David stopped sweeping to look at her directly, needing and dreading her full judgement.

“Nothing I just…I didn't even get to meet the guy yesterday, but he sounds…” she trailed off, touching each of the bottles in front of her one more time.

“What?!”

“I dunno, he sounds… _nice_. He could be good for you,” she shrugged to avoid too much sincerity, which he appreciated. “I think I like this for you.”

Fuck. No. Not possible.

The next day, Sunday, the store hours were shorter, so David didn’t have such a rushed morning, and he gets to close up right at dinner time instead of after, so the entire day didn’t feel as daunting. Not to mention that Monday was the scheduled closed day. He hadn’t yet decided what to do with his free time, and he had trouble remembering what he used to do before he had a job or was in between jobs.

At noon on the dot, the bell chimed, and Patrick waltzed in with yet another takeout bag held aloft. He passed it to David with a soft smile and deposited his laptop bag just inside the doorway to the office. David tried dutifully not to stare at his chest flexing under the snug heathered t-shirt he was wearing. Apparently, it was Casual Sunday?

When David didn’t immediately move to take a break, Patrick smirked at him and just pointed past the open curtain, effectively chastising David. There weren’t even any customers right then.

It took him a second to settle down and open the bag, and he couldn’t help but notice how lovely Patrick looked, casually leaning half in and half out of the office door to keep an eye on the front.

“Seriously, Patrick, I thank you, but you don’t have to feed me every day. I’m a perfectly capable adult,” David said, not entirely sure that was always true.

“No, I know…” Patrick said absently, touching the doorjamb gently. “I know, I just… _care_ about you. So.”

David’s mouth just hung open, ready to trap flies because there was no way he could have moved a muscle with that admission laid on him so bare. They barely knew each other. How was this man even real?

The tinkle of the bell on the door rescued David from having to think of a response, and rescued Patrick from having to wait for one.

David ate slower after that, more than a little fine with having Patrick hanging around for longer. The trouble was that the longer he sat on the awful couch, the more it irritated his back. Compound that with the fact that he had been on his feet more in the past few days than… _ever_ and had missed several weeks of yoga class. So, he stood and stretched and let all the pops and creaks happen with abandon. He straightened his clothes and caught Patrick’s eyes on him. Hmm. The store was empty again, and it hadn’t been that long since Patrick arrived, but David moved toward the front to take up his post anyway.

“Did you mean that?” he asked calmly, not sure if Patrick would pick up the thread of the conversation. He watched Patrick nod and cross his arms protectively. “Well…you shouldn’t,” David scuffed his shoe on the pristine threshold. “I’m damaged goods.”

“David,” Patrick started to protest right before another customer walked in, cutting him off mid-thought.

It was several minutes before they were alone again, and then it was only a very brief moment until they were interrupted again. And instead of leaving after an hour, Patrick stayed and helped out, even though the stream of customers wasn’t nearly enough to warrant his help. But David would be lying if he said he didn’t think they worked well together and didn’t like the company.

At 4pm, Patrick did the honors of flipping the sign and clicking the lock into place, which may have elicited a Pavlovian response in his dick, if he would have let it. Instead, David set to work on running the daily report because, yes, Patrick is more familiar with it, but it is David’s store, and he shouldn’t get used to other people doing the hard things for him. He did Saturday’s report just fine (with Stevie’s moral support.) But they don’t really talk, just simple questions as they move around each other seamlessly – “Did you really sell a cat hair scarf?” “Are there any more twig pencils to fill this out?” “Can you lift your foot for a second?” “Which stock shelf do the balls of twine live on?”

David unconsciously pushed the now empty cash drawer back in after it finished doing its thing, money counted and bundled snug in the safe. It was a loud and satisfying click, that he barely regarded as he sat on the counter flipping through his phone, dangling his legs off the edge to let them rest.

“All done?” Patrick asked, putting the broom back behind the curtain and sliding his bag back across his chest. He stood really close. Closer than he needed to.

David just nodded in response.

“Do you…do you maybe want to go to dinner with me?” Patrick asked, taking another step closer. They just looked at each other for what felt like a long time, Patrick’s eyes so, so hopeful.

“I can’t,” David lied. “Promised Alexis I’d-”

“Oh,” Patrick cut him off with a sharp inhale. “Okay. Maybe next time.”

It wasn’t a question, so David just nodded again noncommittally.

“Guess I’ll see you Tuesday then?” Patrick asked and gripped his bag strap tighter.

And David had every intention of using his voice this time, to say, “yeah, sure,” but Patrick’s hand was on his knee suddenly and his lips were on his cheek so briefly. And almost as quickly as they appeared, they had gone, and Patrick had already walked across the room and unlocked the door to leave.

“See you then,” he said as he exited.

“Bye,” David said softly to the closed door a full minute later.

That night David did help Alexis with some of her homework, so he hadn’t totally lied to Patrick in the end. Instead of going out to eat he laid in bed and tried to catch up on sleep and rest his body, but it didn’t really work. So, he was fully awake when the text from Patrick came in.

_Patrick: Hey, so Rachel sometimes gets free day passes to the spas she oversees.  
Patrick: She has two for tomorrow. You and a friend could use them, if you wanted._

What kind of Millennial wasn’t afraid of double texting? Insanity. But the lure of a day of pampering was too good to pass up. _A friend_ …was he angling for himself? Why didn’t he just say that? David decided to call his bluff.

_David: That sounds really nice actually thank you. My friend Stevie and I would love to use them._

_Patrick: Great! They’re e-vouchers, I’ll email them to you now._

The email ping hit his phone a moment later, and he reads all the fine print before noticing that the email was forwarded via Rachel Chandler first and she wrote, “Glad to help. Go get him! xoxox” Which was just…something.

David texted back a thumbs up emoji after that and put his phone away to re-concentrate on sleeping.

The day off at the spa with Stevie is a nice treat. They really only have time for a massage and a mud wrap before they have to head back. But they do get mimosas and cucumber water and they get caught up on the comings and goings of their mutual acquaintances. And Stevie only once gave him a pointed look when he brings up Patrick. Her emphatic, “You should give him a chance,” was all that was said out loud on that topic.

In the car ride back, David blurted out, “I think you’re my best friend,” out of nowhere because he suddenly realized he had never had one before, and Stevie fit the textbook definition of one. Her offended, “you think?!” was the perfect response and the matter was put to rest.


	7. Down 'Til You Go

On Tuesday, Patrick showed up for his lunch coverage right on time, takeout in hand, and stayed an extra hour after David shooed him off. He asked how the spa went and seemed _very_ interested in finding out more about Stevie. David had smirked through all his answers, happy to keep Patrick on his toes for some reason.

On Wednesday, David texted Patrick first thing in the morning to plead with him not to bring him any takeout because he “actually has food he needs to eat!” and all the cholesterol was going to catch up with him. So, Patrick showed up empty handed but still stayed for two hours.

The same happens on Thursday and Friday and Saturday. On Sunday he showed up two minutes after David had opened, and stayed through close, popping over to the café for “healthy food only” to share for lunch. There haven't been anymore backroom kisses - or front room kisses either come to think of it - but Patrick often looked like he wanted to.

The following week is much the same but on Friday Patrick gets the email saying two of the grants have come through. David can officially hire extra help. And instead of putting up pretenses, David just rolled his eyes and handed Patrick his own key to the store. They ended up drafting a rota just for the two of them, and David pinned it up in the office above the desk.

The week following that one, Patrick was finally taking one or two longer shifts, David coming in just for lunch coverage as they planned out. By now they worked seamlessly, knowing instinctively what needed to be done, and how to answer the customers’ questions. They text after hours about reminders for things about the store. They text during business hours about random customers and their local drama. It was easy and hard and fulfilling in a way that David hadn’t expected a month ago. It's a routine.

David’s birthday and one month since opening the store falls on the same day (Friday) and he doesn’t say a thing all week. His parents and Alexis forget until he reminds them, and he will forgive them eventually, but for two days he reserves the right to be peeved about it.

The Thursday before that, he closed up with Patrick. He faced the toners and SPF lotions three times before he was satisfied, listening for the tell-tale click of the register finishing its report. After that was finished, he stood in the doorway to the store room/office awaiting the verdict from his official numbers man.

“Well?” he asked, “is it still a good start?”

“Still a great, start David,” Patrick said with a devastating smile, spinning the dial on the safe and handing over the printed-out report with the typical highlights in pink marker.

Patrick had taken to pointing out the pertinent numbers to David every time they closed together and made sure all of his tracking work was on a shared folder with him. Every time Patrick took the deposits to the bank, he texted a picture of the receipt to David, and then handed him the paper copy when they saw each other again. At first, David was trying to pay attention to it because he thought he was going to have to do all these figures and filings by himself. But even after the grant money started rolling in, Patrick always made sure David had the chance to check his work.

The other day David had remarked, “You know you don’t have to show me this every night anymore, right?”

And then Patrick had absolutely punched David in the gut (metaphorically) with his panicked eyes and a stuttered, “Well, after your family’s history with Eli…I just wanted you to…to feel comfortable trusting me with this.”

So, David accepted the paper tonight with a quick nod and filed it in the correct folder on the desk.

“Hey,” Patrick cut through the silence that had fallen with his serious tone, and David could feel his brow furrow unattractively in response. “Tomorrow officially marks one month for the store. I kind of feel like you should celebrate.”

“Oh, um, yeah I guess you’re right,” David kept his tone as neutral as possible.

“I was thinking, or actually hoping that you would finally agree to go to dinner with me,” Patrick stated, biting his lower lip. “Just at the café. No pressure, nice and public so you don’t feel…trapped or anything.” It wasn’t a question, David noticed.

“Is this you asking me?” he teased, and he realized he felt like he could now. Now that they were...something.

“Ummm,” Patrick let out a small nervous laugh. “Yeah. David, will you go to dinner with me tomorrow night?”

“Mmm, I’ll have to think about it,” David turned back to the desk to hide his smirk, and to really let the next bit land. “It’s also my birthday, so.”

“Oh!” Patrick was obviously taken aback even though David couldn’t see his face. “Okay. Well, happy birthday then. …If you say yes, now I feel like we should go somewhere _nicer_ than the café though.”

“No, the café’s fine.” David turned back to face him. “Twyla digs up all the old pastries from the back of the freezer on Friday night and George warms them up and they’ll just give you whatever you want for free.” David would pay good money for someone to go back in time and tell his old self that that was something he would be excited about on a Friday night. “The doughnuts and muffins hold up surprisingly well…as long as you eat them while they’re still warm. If you let them cool, they become bricks.”

“Well,” Patrick grinned, accepting the joke of it all. “I will keep that in mind for tomorrow then. If that’s a yes?”

David just nodded, not fully trusting his voice.

“Great! It’s a date, then.”

And fuck. David was not fully prepared for that part.

On the walk home, David took the circuitous way, lost in thought and not ready to be in such close proximity to his family’s constant drama yet. He needed to think. He needed to take stock of his life choices and carefully evaluate where exactly each point was heading, and if they were pulling in the same direction (preferable) or totally different directions (horror.)

He made a mental checklist as his feet carried him forward; Schitt’s Creek (still owned, not leaving soon), family (mostly fine), home (motel, yuck), Stevie (best friend), clothes (rapidly becoming out of date), health (fine for 33), heart…

“Not so good,” he whispered into the evening air.

He had meant it when he told Patrick he was damaged goods. He made choices in the past and let himself go along with situations that were not at all healthy. And all of that paid a toll on first, his self-esteem and second, his ability to express emotion in a healthy/normal way. Aside from their anniversary party, David could only remember telling his parents he loved them maybe one other time in his life. But he felt it, he did. It was easier before to just…not feel that.

It was easier to tell himself that apart from annoyance, lust was his only significant emotion back then. It was what he repeated to himself then, and what he had been repeating to himself now. He was just a very sexual being, he thought. Like Jake…but not as kind. But if he let himself think about it for five uninterrupted seconds, he knew that wasn’t at all true. Fear and longing and pride and jealousy and a mess of other things were all responsible for his actions too. Back then, and now.

And there had been partners he was very attached to. To whom he could have said “I love you” if that was a thing that was bandied about in those circles. But that sort of statement was verboten among the young, rich, and unfettered. It was seen as a weakness. When people paired off for more than a month or two, everyone else wanted to know, “What the fuck, why?!” That had burned him and kept him from really getting close to anyone. But now…now it’s all he thought about. Finding that strong connection. His parents had that. Now decades on and they were only stronger. Fuuuck, he wanted that. The wanting would consume him if he let his mind wander to it.

And he wanted to be swallowed up whole.

So, on Friday he was quiet but friendly to customers all day. Patrick came in for lunch coverage and told stories about Ray that David listened to with a kind smile on his face (and a nervous flutter in his chest) until Patrick had to get back for another appointment. He left through the front door with a grin and promises to meet at the café at 8pm.

And David didn’t let the wanting consume him in the light of day – but it was a close call. David’s biceps are going to be bruised from holding himself together all day, and the screen-printed lightening bolt on his sweater was going to be worn right across the middle if he wasn’t careful.

But that’s the thing, David is careful. He’s very careful. About everything.

At close he worked in silence while he swept and counted and logged. He was meticulous with everything, as usual. The deposit was locked away, the lights were off, and his anxiety had him reciting nonsense things (toner, milk, toner, milk, Rose, Rose, Rose) in his head like a mantra instead of worrying about what comes next. Because the thing that comes next was probably ten minutes early to the café and already waiting for him, and knowing that fact was making his heart beat nearly through his chest. He could actually _see_ his sweater moving from it. And that couldn’t be healthy.

The thing that was waiting for him was possibility and authenticity, and did he deserve that? Had David earned that lov- _nope_. …Earned what Patrick obviously wanted to give him? Given his interest in David – even all his many, _many_ faults – could Patrick be trusted to make sound decisions? Wasn’t liking David, caring for David, a fault?

Like just about everything in this town, the café looked better at twilight. The magic hour was slipping away and there was purple in the sky and it was peaceful and beautiful in a way that made everything okay. And it was his fucking birthday. And he would fucking enjoy this.

The booths in the café are patched with duct tape, the mural needs a scrub, there was a ketchup stain on the baseboard, but it was all beautiful it its own way.

Patrick was indeed, already waiting for him to walk in, sat in a booth facing the door so he would know the instant David appeared. And isn’t that just…

“I almost didn’t see you there through the mad rush of the Friday night dinner crowd,” David joked with a weird wave that he regretted immediately. Off to a great start.

“I’m just so relieved that I made a reservation,” Patrick grinned.

Patrick was wearing a blue (of course) blazer that David comments on – because he can’t not – and their conversation flows like they aren’t hiding from each other. Like they’ve always done this. They order too much and Twyla’s too honest but it’s...comforting.

“So,” David finally geared himself up for the question he really wanted to ask, looking down at the mozzarella sticks and muffins they had deemed too freezer burned or bricked to eat. “I have to know…if you…I know you’re new to this…type of relationship.” And wasn’t that a physically painful word to say out loud, _fuck_. “I have to know if because I was your first you’ve just…latched on to me like a baby bird.”

Patrick’s face made an interesting journey from confusion to understanding to concentration which was fun to watch. But David noticed he didn’t say anything right away. Shit.

“Which is fine, that’s not your fault. It happens. I just don’t think I can be that for you. You should date and kiss other guys and sow your wild oats.” If he made it a joke, maybe it would hurt less. Not that that had ever worked in the history of…ever.

“I _have_ kissed other guys,” Patrick blurted out suddenly. So now it was David’s turn for a face journey. “I um,” he continued, “after we…well, Rachel told me about this app called Bumpkins? And there’s not a _lot_ of guys-seeking-guys on it, but I went on a few dates. Managed to kiss one or two.” He shrugged like it was no big deal, which David two years ago would have agreed with. But right now-David is spinning because…what?! Good for him, but also…what?!

David couldn’t help the little laugh that escaped from his core and Patrick didn’t seem to mind it either because he keeps talking about his dates (Blake and Jason and Miles). And Ken was the guy that got the most dates but only one kiss and it ultimately ended because Patrick couldn’t get past his choice in shoes. Which, in David’s humble opinion, was as valid a reason as any for breaking it off with someone and he lets Patrick know he made the right choice.

“So, I guess…I guess that’s a long way of saying I _have_ tried to sow some oats,” Patrick twisted his empty water cup gently on the table, not quite meeting David’s eyes. “But none of them fascinated me as much as you do. None of them... _were_ you.” And infuriatingly, Patrick was still not looking fully at David, when he needed those genuine, dangerous eyes the most. “I can’t know what our future holds, David. …But I know I really want to be with you as we figure it out.”

David couldn’t take it anymore. He had to have Patrick look at him. So, he reached out and stilled Patrick’s hand on his cup and held it until their eyes met again. It was intense and loud even though they weren’t saying anything. And David wanted all that too. He might not say it with words, but he was saying it with his eyes and his hand and his presence and the matching smiles they were sharing.

“Ahem,” David cleared his throat when it seemed like they had both come to the same page finally. “I also can’t help but notice that there’s been a gift bag sitting next to you all night and I think George is about five minutes from throwing us out. So.”

“Oh!” Patrick feigned surprise. “You think this is a present for you?!”

David narrowed his eyes and squeezed his hand in a warning. “It’s my birthday, and the mensiversary for my store so it would be a very cruel thing to do if it wasn’t.”

“The _what_ for your store?”

“Mensiversary,” David stated again. “It’s the proper word for commemorating a month of something passing.”

“You can’t just say ‘month anniversary?’”

“No, because anniversary is Latin for a year’s turning and obviously that does not apply to only a month.” David’s mother would want Patrick to know that.

Patrick chuckled as he let go of David’s hand to pass the bag over the table and furrowed his brow as David pulled out the tissue paper (blue, of course), and then pulled out two matching frames. Black, sturdy ones. Perfect ones.

“It’s nothing,” he deflected when David didn’t say anything.

He could only gape at the two objects float mounted inside them. The receipt for the first sale on opening day, and the hand-drawn invitation for the opening.

“Alexis still had the original you drew,” Patrick explained. “So, it just seemed…and I had a feeling on opening day at the till…well, for the _mensiversary_ , I guess…Anyway…”

“These are not nothing,” David said finally finding his voice, ignoring the fact that Alexis and Patrick had apparently had more than a three-word conversation while he wasn’t paying attention. “Thank you.”

“Happy Birthday, David,” Patrick smiled softly.

And George did want to kick them out about a minute later, so they exited, and David thought their night was over right then, but Patrick offered him a ride back to the motel which only took two minutes. If David was honest with himself, he’d know that he wasn’t ready for the night to be over, and he would know that Patrick felt the same. It was obvious in the way he turned off the car, and remained seated, and David only took his seatbelt off because he was worried about wrinkling the printing on his sweater.

“I’m really glad you’re letting me work with you, David,” Patrick said, breaking the silence that had settled around them.

David just smiled and nodded, not quite accustomed to sincerity still. But he was getting there.

“And I’m really glad you did Patrick, because you’ve really helped make the store thrive,” Patrick joked, the full force of his joyful eyes focused expectantly on David. The _'and help me not work myself into an early grave'_ was implied.

“Mmm, a bold claim,” David teased, letting himself be scrutinized, letting the smirk escape from the corner of his cheek.

It was silent for a few more beats until Patrick’s desire, and David’s resolve met in the middle over the center console, lips firm and sure. Patrick’s hand found a spot on the side of David’s neck, and it was so damn calming. Patrick was the first to pull back, but not far, just enough to gaze at David seriously.

“I know we didn’t…go about this in the most conventional way, but I want to be with you, David Rose. If you’ll have me.”

And David had to pull all the way back then, lean his back against the car seat, because genuine, kind, human emotions were still new and scary, and Patrick was a fucking mind reader. Seeing Patrick waiting for him – in the store for his shift each day, tonight in the café – felt like home, like belonging. Every time. And they are so, so far from where they started…and it was perfect. All of it is perfect.

So, David just nodded, and leant back in for another saccharine sweet kiss.


	8. Way Down We Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> EPILOGUE

**FOUR MONTHS LATER**

David cornered Patrick one last time before he took the stage, guitar already in hand, pulling him by his now acceptable flat leather belt. “I just want to lodge my objections again, for the record, please," he said calmly, a little bit of tease seeping in, but definitely grimacing.

“David,” Patrick grinned, kissing him softly on the cheek. “Your objections have been logged and filed, and we will get back to you in three to four business days. Now go relax, and drink some more wine, and let people be charmed by your sore.”

“ _Our_ store,” David corrected, noting how the smile Patrick wore crinkled the corner of his eyes.

“I love you,” he whispered, pecking David on the cheek again, the declaration coming easily to him. And it was becoming easier to hear, and easier to accept as the recipient.

But David still watched a little helplessly as his boyfriend took his place center stage, and welcomed everyone to their first Open Mic, and told them to enjoy the cheese and booze. And it was so damn charming. Damnit. David was going to have to get the flyer framed now.

“Not many people know this,” Patrick continued, “but David and I actually met before I officially moved here, while he worked at a different store. He didn’t have a lot of creative control over at the Blouse Barn, but he left a hell of an impression on me. And I think we can all agree he has done something special right here. Anyway, this one’s for you, David. Thank you, for letting me be a part of your vision.”

And then Patrick proceeded to rip his own beating heart out and pin it to his sleeve for everyone to see.

_“I call you when I need you, my heart’s on fire...You come to me, come to me, wild and wired...You come to me. Give me everything I need...You give me a lifetime of promises and a world of dreams...Speak the language of love like you know what it means...And it can’t be wrong, take my heart and make it strong, babe...You’re simply the best...Better than all the rest...Better than anyone...Anyone I’ve ever met...And I’m stuck on your heart...I hang on every word you say...Tear us apart?...Baby, I would rather be dead...”_

So, David just nodded and cried and let himself be loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for going on this journey with me. The idea of them hating each other when they first met came to me on a Tuesday night, and four days and 18K+ words later, here we are.


End file.
